I'm Coming Home to You
by Tadpole24
Summary: They're ten years old and it's pouring rain the first time he kisses Emma Swan. A Sweet Home Alabama AU.


_**So I'm only two weeks late, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Caitlin! You asked for a Sweet Home Alabama AU and I hope this lives up to expectations :) I'm just so sorry for how late it is!**_

 _ **I took some creative liberties but we all know they're not mine.**_

…

I'm Coming Home to You

…

They're ten years old and it's pouring rain the first time he kisses Emma Swan.

"Come on, Killian! Your brother is going to kill us if we're out here too much longer."

They had promised Liam they'd be home before the rain started but, as he watches Emma run ahead of him absolutely soaked, he can't help but think that if he's already going to be in trouble, he should really make the most of it. "Emma, wait."

She turns around, blonde hair clinging to her pretty face. "I can't wait," she laughs, looking at him incredulously. She's only been in Storybrooke a year and, despite being adopted and part of a permanent family, he knows that she's still scared that someone will come and take her away if she misbehaves.

But he catches up to her in the next moment, hand reaching for hers, "Ruth won't be mad and, besides, I don't want to go inside just yet."

She looks down at their joined hands and swipes her hair out of her face with the other, "You're not making any sense, Killian. It's cold out here."

A hint of a smile crosses his face and he squeezes her hand, "But there's no place I'd rather be."

Emma is contemplating telling him just how silly that notion is when there's a loud crack just behind them. They both whip their heads around, seeing the flash of light hit the ground and leave a smoking indent in its wake.

"Whoa," they both exclaim, running towards it. The sand has taken on a sheen and Killian can't wait until it's cooled down so he can pull whatever the lightning has made out.

Emma goes to walk away again, but their hands are still joined and Killian pulls her back to him, "Don't go just yet. We'll be safe here. Lightning never strikes the same place twice."

She tilts her head, challenging him, "Why do you want to spend so much time with me, Killian Jones?"

But he's never been one for backing away from a challenge, so he tells her, "Because I like you, Emma Swan."

She smiles and realises how she can win this little exchange, tugging on his hand and leaning up to press her lips against his. He gasps and she mentally tallies her win before she realises that the sky has lit up again and a bolt of lightning is coming right at them.

They jump apart, Emma looking up at Killian in disbelief. "Okay, we _really_ have to go now," she says before running ahead of him.

He looks after her in quiet shock, touching his lips and smiling, "There is still no place I'd rather be."

(Liam grounds him on the spot, so he has to sneak out to retrieve the glass sculpture the lightning had left for him. He names it 'Swan' and vows to marry the girl who inspired it one day.)

…

The glass sits on a shelf in his living room, all smooth lines and jagged edges, just like the woman who had inspired every single piece. He sips on his beer, trying not to focus on her, trying not to remember the way she smells in the summer rain or the way her fingers feel as she tugs on his hair. It's been years since she left, years since they fought over their different lives and since she had walked out on their little slice of perfection.

He supposes it was only meant to be temporary. All good things end and she had been the best thing in his life. It only fit that she would be taken away by fate or destiny or whatever damn thing so pleased to drag her onward.

It would have been their anniversary. He was going to propose all those years ago, was going to give her every piece of his broken soul in the knowledge that she would keep it safe. She may have been heading towards being the sheriff of this small Maine town, but she was always destined for bigger things.

He knocks back the rest of his beer, wishing for something stronger, but also thanking his lucky stars that his rum stocks are running exceptionally low. Drinking his problems away has never ended particularly well.

His eyes drag from the unique glass on his shelf to the news article on his laptop screen. Apparently there is to be a big wedding in New York between the mayor's son and _her_. He sneers at the article, rolling his eyes at the way a political marriage may as well be a royal wedding these days – the hype around it all is just ridiculous. Emma wouldn't want that.

He stops himself there, before he can let that thought manifest into anything more. How is he to know what Emma Swan would want anymore? He'd thought he'd known, thought they were perfect for each other, thought they could live out a happy life in their small town. But he thinks, as he throws his empty beer bottle in the general direction of a bin and leans his dizzy head back against the couch that they had picked out together, that perhaps she never really wanted a quiet life.

…

He wakes early with a headache and a queasy belly, the sunlight streaming in through the half open curtains all too bright. He hears the bark that woke him ring out again and decides it's probably time to feed his dog. Only, when he reaches the front porch, it's not his empty bowl that Smee is barking at.

"We need to talk."

He narrows his eyes at the blonde standing out front of her yellow bug as though she's some kind of hallucination resulting from the pounding in his head. She raises her eyebrows at him, imploring him to speak and he realises he's been staring at her dumbly for far longer than socially acceptable, "I've found when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation."

She rolls her eyes, "I'm here to pick up my things."

It takes a moment for his foggy mind to catch up and, before he knows it, she marching up the stairs towards him. "Emma, wait…"

But she is on a warpath, "I think I did enough waiting."

His temper flares at that, "You waited? Emma, I waited for months for you to come back. Years even. You left without a word, mid-fight, and never came home." He steps closer to her, "And then you show up here after three years without so much as a 'hello, how are you Killian' and expect me to just accept it?"

She shrugs, lips opening and closing with the inability to think of something to say. Her saving grace is a loud series of barks. Smee still hasn't been fed for the morning and his barking becomes more insistent as their voices rise in volume. They're almost standing toe to toe on the porch and they both turn to the dog with equally frustrated glares.

"Shut up, Peter."

"Shut up, Smee."

At that moment Emma's eyes shoot back to Killian, "What happened to Peter?"

Killian's eyes sadden before a hardened expression comes over him, "A lot has happened since you've been gone."

And, for the first time since she left this little town, she feels regret claw at her insides.

Killian moves over to the barrel of dog food, scooping out a cupful for his bloodhound, "Your things are no longer here."

She watches his movements with sadness in her eyes, her heart still trying to catch up with the fact that Peter is no longer with them, "You threw it all out?" She says it with surprise, though deep down she knows she would have done the same if he had just packed up and left one night.

But he shakes his head, "It's in storage. Do me a favour, go see your brother and I'll dig it out for you."

It terrifies her that he's right. She should go see her brother. It wasn't just Killian she had run out on all those years ago, but she had done very well to not think too hard about that while she's been in New York. "Okay," she agrees.

He looks up at her in disbelief, not having expected her to say yes, "Okay."

…

She has missed David's hugs.

There's just something about the way he makes her feel like a part of something bigger just by holding her. She hasn't got much in the way of family, her parents having given her up as a baby. But David's mother had taken her in as one of her own and, suddenly, she had felt like the most family rich person in the world.

"God I've missed you," he whispers into her hair, "So much has happened."

As if to prove his point, a cry rings out through a baby monitor sitting on the mantle. Her heart speeds up, "Is that…?"

David smiles, turning to walk down a hallway that leads to the bedrooms at the back of the house, "He's just gone a month. Leo."

She puts the puzzle pieces together in her head, knowing that Leo was also the name of her best friend's father, "Mary Margaret?"

He nods, excitement practically dripping off him, "Yeah, we got married just over a year ago." Emma's eyes sadden at the news and David seems to see the shift, "We tried to find you to invite you. We both wanted you there more than anything."

She knows she had made it hard for anyone to find her. She'd left no trace of herself anywhere, choosing to disappear from her old life and change her name. Emma Swan was far too fairytale a name anyway. But the clawing regret is back with force at the knowledge of all the things she has missed.

"Can I hold him?"

David's eyes soften at the request, "Of course. He has to know his Aunty Emma."

Leo is so light in her arms, curling into her chest with a satisfied sigh. His little fingers reach out to clutch at the pendant of her necklace and she runs the pads of her fingers over his full cheeks. She doesn't realise she's crying until a tear hits the crown of his head.

She and Walsh have never spoken about kids. She's just gotten engaged to the man and they've never spoken about a future. The diamond on her finger seems out of place all of a sudden and she has the urge to just pull it off and throw it away. But then Leo makes gurgling noises against her chest and she forgets everything else. Standing here, holding her nephew, everything seems simpler. She's not worried about tomorrow because everything will be okay.

"God I love him already," she whispers.

David smiles though she doesn't look up to see it, too engrossed in the baby in her arms, "Yeah, he has that effect on people."

…

The thing she has always loved about her brother is that he can read her like a book. The question is barely out of her mouth when he's offering her a spare room for as long as she needs. When she tells him it won't be more than the weekend, he nods and says, "If that's what you think."

And, somehow, she knows he's probably right. There is so much unfinished business here and she knows she won't be able to let it go.

…

It's weird being back in Storybrooke. It's like nothing has changed, but everything is different. Granny still makes the best hot chocolate in town, Leroy is still the town gossip and The Rabbit Hole is still where everyone gathers for harder beverages after a long day at work. Which is exactly where Emma finds herself on this unassuming Saturday night, the rum in her hand not doing enough to calm her nerves.

She can't really explain it but the thought of seeing Killian again now, for the second time, is so much more daunting than the first. She thinks it might have something to do with the fact that the first time was like ripping off a bandaid, but now she has to prepare for him and she's not sure she's ever been prepared for Killian Jones.

"Ah, Swan," he says, as he enters the bar, "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

She bites her tongue against correcting him with the name she had fashioned for herself in New York. They all know who she is here; there's no need to hide –which is an oddly comforting thought.

"Just claiming back some of my territory, seeing as none of my other belongings have made their way back into my possession," she answers pointedly.

He shrugs, picking up a pool cue, "Some things take time, lass."

She narrows her eyes at him, "I'm not going to stick around forever, waiting, Killian."

Something flashes in his eyes and she is immediately taken back to that night they had fought three years ago. Breathing out a frustrated sigh, he tries to keep his voice down so the rest of the bar doesn't get involved in their argument, "Patience _was_ never your virtue."

She moves closer to him, desperate for him to understand all these years later, "I was extremely patient."

"Not patient enough, it would seem."

"What are you even talking about?"

He's close to telling her, so close to just letting it all out. But what would she care if he'd intended to propose that night anyway? She's happy with her fiancé now, she's got a career in law enforcement that she never would have had in a small town and she most likely wants her "things" because her adoptive mother had given her her wedding dress and what bride wouldn't want their mother's wedding dress with them before they got married?

Before the words can slip out, he's saved by one of Emma's old high school friends, Ruby. "Well isn't this like old times?"

Emma is immediately distracted by the tall brunette, letting the conversation with Killian go as she turns to her old friend, offering a hug.

…

His words stew in her mind all night though. What did he mean that she wasn't patient?

She had never thought of herself as a needy person. Despite having David and their quirky little family, she had grown up choosing to never have to rely on someone else. But that night, the night when she had walked out, god she had needed Killian to follow her. She needed him to fight for her, to promise her a future and a family and everything that she never thought she would be allowed. Instead, he'd let her go.

But now, after hearing him talking about patience, she can't help but wonder just what could have been.

…

Ruby sure knows how to drink and when Emma wakes up, there's a slight haze around her mind. It takes her a little while to realise where she is but she is eternally grateful for her friend's presence of mind to bring her to Granny's diner and inn. The smell of fresh cooked bacon wafts up the stairwell and Emma knows that if she can just pull herself out of this heavenly bed, she'll be in for a treat for breakfast.

She checks her make up in the mirror, swiping the eyeliner from the various places it's managed to land which are not her eye and reminding herself that anyone in that diner this morning has seen her do the same stumble towards food after a big night out many a time.

Ruby greets her at the base of the stairs, looking annoyingly fresh and offering her a plate of bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast. Glorious toast. She sinks her teeth into the dense bread before she even hits a seat, smiling at her friend. "So tell me, the vague images I have of us dancing on the bar…real or dream?"

Ruby grins, sipping at her coffee, "Definitely real."

…

She sees Killian down by the docks, after she rushes back to David's to freshen up, cleaning his beloved boat while Smee runs around the deck. She tells herself that she just wanted to go for a walk to get some fresh air but, truth be told, she knew exactly who she would run into if she ventured by the water. Killian and the ocean had always had a kinship.

"Surprised to see you up and about."

Emma laughs, "Definitely felt it a lot worse than when we were younger."

He nods, "Ah, those were the days."

She steps up to his boat, running her hand along the familiar paintwork, marvelling at the fact he'd never changed the name after all these years, "Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

He doesn't make eye contact, but simply nods again, "Aye."

It's been a long time since she's been on a boat and it takes her a moment to get her sea legs even with the gentleness of the rocking. Once she's steady though, she bends to pat Smee while looking up at Killian, "I'm uh… I'm thinking of staying the week. Just letting you know so you don't rush…you know…in digging my stuff out."

Now he meets her eye, "I appreciate your notice."

She swallows because she'd forgotten how damn blue his eyes were and they are entirely too captivating, "I should go."

He smiles and blinks and the moment dissolves into nothing, "Off to practice your dance moves, I presume?"

She bites her lip, stifling a groan of disgust at herself for letting Ruby get the better of her last night, but laughs when she hears his chuckle. "You caught me," she answers.

…

The first sound that wakes her the next morning is Leo's crying. She tries to roll over and cover her head with her pillow, but through the cries comes the sound of someone ringing the doorbell. Knowing that David had been on night shift at the sheriff's office and that Mary Margaret will be preoccupied with her son, Emma accepts that she's the one who needs to get the front door.

She rolls herself out of the bed, throwing her wild mane of hair into a knot atop her head, and makes her way towards the offensive ringing.

When she opens the door, there is no one there though – just a box with her name on it.

She immediately knows what it is and hurriedly pulls the box inside, glancing up to see if she can find the retreating figure of the man who left this for her. But Killian is nowhere to be found, already having disappeared.

The first thing she sees is Ruth's wedding dress, still as beautiful as ever. She remembers the day it was given to her and holds it close, missing the woman she had called her mother all the more for holding something of hers. A blanket with her name embroidered into it was the only connection she had to her birth parents. It is also the second thing she pulls out of the box. There is a little wooden box that she knows holds trinkets from her childhood and a few birthday cards and letters that she had deemed worthy of keeping, but the thing that catches her eye is a smaller, unfamiliar black velvet box. She has no recollection of this particular memento. Reaching for it curiously, she wonders for a moment if it could be what she has a hunch it is. Holding her breath, she pulls back the lid and confirms her thoughts.

A glittering diamond sits on top of a fine band and there is no mistaking just what kind of ring this is. Her free hand flies to her mouth as realisation dawns on her. Suddenly Killian's every word makes sense. Everything he's said about patience and waiting just long enough and…fuck. He had been meaning to propose to her.

Mary Margaret finds her like that a few minutes later, carrying Leo on one hip and wrapping her free arm around Emma. "What's going on?" she asks.

Not quite able to speak, Emma holds out the hand holding the box. Mary Margaret takes a look at the ring and frowns, "Why have you taken it off? Are you having second thoughts?"

Still not quite able to vocalise what she's trying to process, Emma holds out her left hand, ring from Walsh still firmly in place, and hopes that her sister in-law can put the puzzle together.

"Wait…so if that's Walsh's ring, who…?" she takes a look around the room, taking in the wedding dress that she knows had belonged to Ruth, the blanket from Emma's childhood, the things that she had often seen when they'd hung out in Emma's room after school. "This is the stuff Killian brought to you?"

Emma nods, finally whispering, "Yeah."

"But you two were never engaged, right?"

"I think he was going to ask that night that I ran…"

The gravity of the revelation settles on Mary Margaret who leans into her friend's side, balancing Leo on her knee, "Oh Emma."

Flashes of the fight hit her mind over and over again, the way she had screamed at Kilian that he had no idea where their relationship was going, that if he didn't figure it out soon, she would figure it out for him, that she'd barely let him get a word in before she'd decided what was best for both of them and left. Truth be told, she had been looking for a way out for a long time. Being sheriff of a small town hadn't interested her. She'd had dreams of being a detective in New York for as long as she could remember, dreams that she had since fulfilled. But, god, looking back on that night, things could have been handled a whole lot differently.

"I know," she sighs, taking the comfort from her friend, "Trust me. I know."

…

They say it's harder to leave home the second time and Emma is certainly discovering that little truth. The first time, she had simply turned her back and kept on walking. This time though, there seems to be more wanting to hold her here. So much can happen in three years and she doesn't want to miss another part of her friends' lives. In New York it is so easy to see what everyone is doing 24/7. Social media and flawless internet connections have made it easy to stay in touch without saying a word. Here though, in Storybrooke, everything is exciting again. A conversation is meaningful and she doesn't have to just see it all happening through her phone screen.

In fact, she holds up her phone hoping for some kind of signal, dropping her arm in frustration a few seconds later. She's been trying to call Walsh all day. He'd sent a message earlier asking when she was thinking of coming back to New York and, truth be told, she doesn't know.

And that's a scary thought.

Putting her phone into her pocket, she looks up to assess where she's managed to walk to, surprised to see that she's made it to the edge of town and is currently outside of the cemetery. She'd never had much reason to come down this end of town, but she suddenly thinks of her old dog, Peter, and wonders if Kilian has given him a place to lie.

The sun is just setting and it's kind of cathartic walking along the path. The day is ending and tomorrow is coming and tomorrow always holds promise and hope.

She finds a small headstone for Peter, her beloved bloodhound. He had been by her side through everything but she had run away from him too, in the end.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, boy," she says quietly, kneeling down next to the grey stone. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for a lot of things." Her eyes start welling with tears and she tells herself that she needs to pull it together but, once they start, it's hard to stop them. Sniffing, she places a hand on the headstone, "I bet Killian took better care of you than I could have."

There's a shuffle behind her and she turns around to see the man himself standing there. "I wish you had been here too," he says honestly.

"Hey," she says, not really knowing how else to start this conversation.

He takes a step towards her, reaching out to brush a tear away from her cheek with his thumb, "Gods above I missed you."

She bites her lip to stop it quivering, leaning into the lingering touch of his hand, "I missed you too, Killian. So much."

"Where did we go wrong?"

She wishes she had a detailed and logical answer. For every moment she had pictured this conversation, she can't seem to find the words to say the right thing. "I think we just stopped talking."

He moves even closer and she can feel her body moving into his, "I want to start talking again, Emma."

Her eyes meet his and, god, she wants to talk as well. She wants him in her life, wants to be in his. Three years has changed so much and she knows she could be happy with him here, now. It feels like it would be giving up her life to move away from him again.

It would be so easy to just give into this moment, so easy to tilt her head and capture his lips. But she knows it's wrong. Walsh isn't a bad guy, he's just not the right one. She takes a deep breath and takes a step back, her phone _finally_ ringing as though her fiancé can hear her thinking about him. She looks at Killian with apologies in her eyes before answering the call. By the time she's finished convincing Walsh that she'll be coming home soon, Killian has gone and Emma finally lets the tears fall.

…

To be woken up with a kiss is not something she had been expecting at all and her first instinct is to severely injure the man who has climbed into her bed. But, as her eyes adjust to the morning light, she sees that her fiancé has chosen this sunny day to surprise her. And what a surprise it is, "Walsh! What are you doing here?"

He grins, "I just missed you and you didn't seem like you were ready to come back to New York, so I thought I would come see you here."

She smiles at his sweetness, but also cringes at the sights he must have been subjected to already, "I never wanted you to see this place."

He kisses her forehead, "It's perfectly charming, Em."

She resists the urge to scoff but he must see the look of disbelief cross his face because next thing she knows, he's taken both her hands in his, trying to convince her of the beauty in this little town she had run away from, "No really. I love it. In fact, I was thinking it might be the perfect back drop for our wedding."

Her eyes widen at that, "You cannot be serious!"

But he only smiles in response.

…

It's surprising how fast people can organise a wedding in a small town and, for the next week, that's all Emma sees anybody doing. It's as though everybody has completely neglected their regular jobs in favour of helping set up decorations all through town. With a few calls from Walsh there has even been some outside help brought in, a travelling bridal wear van driving into town on Tuesday with any beautiful, white dress that Emma could dare to dream of. At Ruby and Mary Margaret's insistence, she had chosen something simple and elegant with a lacy bodice and delicate chiffon skirt that can be altered to include some of the material from Ruth's dress. She had never been one for glitter and tulle, much to the dressmaker's dismay.

There are fairylights hung on every part of the main street, the road to be closed on the night of the wedding to allow for a reception under the stars. Granny's inn has been taking reservations left right and centre for Walsh's family and friends who will be travelling to Maine and everyone else in Storybrooke seems to be opening their doors for camera crews and media to stay and cover the big political wedding. It's only now that Emma's starting to realise how much of a big deal marrying the mayor of New York's son is.

It's a whirlwind of a week, being poked and prodded at for dress fittings and cake tastings and all the things that would normally take months. But at the end of each day, as she lies awake while Walsh sleeps, she counts up how long it has been since she's seen Killian and it makes her stomach ache with a feeling she hasn't allowed herself to open up to in years.

And with each passing night, the last thought on her mind before she finally succumbs to restless sleep is that she probably will always love Killian Jones.

…

Walsh kisses her goodbye the afternoon before the wedding, telling her that he'll see her tomorrow with more excitement in his voice than she thinks she can muster in her whole body. Once the door closes, a weird calm settles over her as though being without him for a night is just what she needs. She knows it's wrong and that she is about to walk into a life by his side, but she just needs this night to clear her mind, to sort out what the hell is going on in her heart.

David sits with her on the couch after a while, reaching out to take her hand, "Mary Margaret told me about the ring."

She turns her head, watching her brother carefully – whatever he says has always held such great bearing with her and she knows that his opinion right now is all that she needs. "I can't tell you what to do, but I need to know that you're happy."

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again, but she can't give him what he needs because she doesn't know if she's happy or not. She realises that that's probably not a great state to be in when she's getting married in less than 24 hours.

David squeezes her hand, "I won't give you away unless you want me to. Just think on it."

She leans into his shoulder and lets the tears that she has been desperately holding in fall. Her eyes linger on a photo hung on the wall right in front of her as though by some divine fate. It's an old picture of the four of them – David with his arms around Mary Margaret, Killian leaning on Emma's shoulder. She thinks it might have been just after high school when their lives were simple and they had all their hopes and dreams ahead of them.

There's a sparkle in her eyes, something so special about being tucked under Killian Jones' arm. This was before, "We should go out," before, "I love you," and so long before, "Goodbye." It was before she had allowed herself the possibility of happiness. And now, she feels like she's denying herself that possibility again.

She doesn't answer David out loud, doesn't let her mind linger too long on the what ifs of the following day. Instead, she just curls in closer to her brother and lets his steady heartbeat lull her to sleep.

…

She wakes with a start, tangled in her sheets and with her stomach in knots. She kicks her way out of the bed and goes to talk to David about the night before, but is stopped in her tracks by a very beautiful looking woman. Mary Margaret is following close behind, calling out that this is her make-up artist and that her hairdresser isn't far behind.

And so it begins.

At some point a glass of champagne is pressed into her grip and she struggles not to drink the whole lot in one go, more worried that chugging it would ruin her make-up and call for round three of lipstick application than anything.

Mary Margaret is in the seat next to her, having her pixie cut styled and she reaches out to take Emma's hand, calming her nerves more than anything else has this morning. She only wishes this morning would never end. There's a sense of dread which has settled deep in her bones and all she wants is to remain in this moment forever and never move forward.

But, much to her dismay, photographers begin to arrive and, before she knows what's happening, Ruby, Mary Margaret and one of her friends from New York, Elsa, are helping her into her wedding dress. It's only when she's facing her mirror and sees everything put together that it hits her that she's not marrying the man of her dreams today.

And, _god,_ she wants to cry. But, again, can't ruin the make-up.

"You look beautiful," Mary Margaret assures her as she goes to pick up a crying Leo.

Emma smiles at her friend, but it obviously doesn't reach her eyes because the brunette takes a tentative step closer and whispers, "Please be happy, Emma."

There never was a secret between Mary Margaret and David and she has no doubt they've discussed her and the situation with Killian at great lengths. Before Emma can answer and reassure Mary Margaret that she'll be okay, Elsa bursts into the room to let them know that the photographer is ready for the photos of the bride with her bridesmaids.

Emma follows Elsa, wishing she could muster even half of the excitement of her friend. In all honesty she envies the other blonde, wishes that she could be walking down that aisle and thinking of only one man at the other end, but she knows there will be another who comes to her mind.

…

It's so bizarre to be driving up the same streets she has driven up countless times and knowing her wedding is at the other end of the journey. To say she had expected this turn of events would be a lie – if someone had told her a few weeks ago that she would be getting married to Walsh in her hometown, she would have called them crazy. But here she is and she wishes she could be the kind of girl who could say that there is nowhere she'd rather be.

But it's a lie and she is getting very close to the time when she actually has to admit that to herself and the people around her. They drive the long way, explaining that she actually has to be late because it's tradition. She wants to tell them that she's never been a big fan of traditional but, instead, her eyes catch on the beach. They've driven down past the water and it's clear that there is a storm rolling in so, naturally, Killian is out in his raincoat pushing metal rods into the sand like it's not an insane idea. A smile plays at the corners of her lips as she watches him, memories of the years they had spent watching the storms and waiting for that spark of lightning to make the perfect glass sculpture in the sand.

Before she can stop herself, she mumbles, "I can't believe he still does that," to no one in particular.

It's David who answers her though, "He has an entire gallery – names each piece after you."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, swinging around to him with a frown on her face. "What do you mean?" she asks.

"Well I guess they always kind of resemble a swan…"

She swears she's never been this much of an emotional person, but tears spring to her eyes anyway and she hastily turns back to looking out the window. Her mind flies to the day he'd been cleaning his boat at the docks, the way her fingers had traced the faded letters written across the hull. She remembers when he had revealed that he'd called the vessel "Swansong" to her that she had argued that it seemed kind of…final, in a way. He had argued that she was kind of…final, in a way. They had christened that boat right then and there and she had never been in more love.

It seems weird that she had taken all these measures to ensure her past wouldn't find her when, really, all she had to do was come home to find herself.

A breathy sob passes her lips and she can't hold in the tears any longer, not even caring what her make-up artist would think of the terrible things the crying must be doing to her perfect eyeliner. The car pulls up at the edge of the woods and she knows there's an aisle marked for her. She can hear the beginnings of music being played at the end of that aisle and knows Walsh must be waiting patiently – or not so patiently. He's probably as jittery as she is.

She feels a sinking in her stomach at what she's about to do, but she knows it has to be now. It can't wait.

Taking David's hand as he offers to help her out of the car, she squeezes it to get his attention, "Dave…I- I can't."

Her brother seems to take in her appearance for the first time since the car had pulled up, noticing the tear tracks down her cheeks and the red patches under her eyes. He kneels next to the car, pulling her hand to his heart, "Then I won't."

She nods, "I should go tell him."

David agrees softly, kissing her forehead and gently pulling her up, "I'll be right behind you."

…

He must know something is wrong the second he sees her practically running down the aisle because he meets her halfway with a knowing look in his eyes. "I think I always knew I only had you temporarily," he says sadly. Emma frowns at his words and he hurries to explain, "I mean, I had hoped…"

But she knows what he means, holding a hand up to stop him, "I did love you and I never wanted to hurt you." He nods and she continues, "But I gave my heart away a long time ago."

David's fingers are still wrapped around hers and he squeezes them gently, pulling her attention from Walsh's broken expression to his mother who is standing just behind him with a look of fury plastered all over her features. Emma knows the efforts that had gone into making this wedding happen so soon and she knows Walsh's mother is not going to be happy with this outcome. Before anything can be said though, there is a loud crack of thunder and a bolt of lightning blazes through the sky.

David tugs at her hand and she knows she has to go now; she has to see Killian before the storm hits.

She mutters a last, "I'm so sorry," at Walsh as everyone around them begins scrambling for cover, the first of the rain drops starting to fall. He doesn't have a chance to answer before she is running towards the car, David and her bridesmaids right on her heels.

She directs the driver towards the Nolan's household and David looks at her curiously, but Mary Margaret has already put the pieces together and, with a smile on her face, she answers David's silent question, "She needs to get the ring."

…

The storm has well and truly set in by the time she reaches the beach, the long layers of white lace and chiffon clinging to her skin as she runs through the rain. The ocean crashes over the sound of her calling out to him and, by the time he hears her voice, she's almost right next to him. He ushers her away from the metal poles he's just buried in the ground, fearful of the lightning that could strike at any time.

"Where's your husband?" he calls out, not even the sound of the waves crashing or the rain able to drown out the sound of bitterness in his voice.

She shrugs coyly, "Don't have one."

Killian, not understanding what she's suggesting, rolls his eyes, "Fine, where's your fiancé then?"

At that she smiles, bringing the small black box into view, holding it between the two of them, "He actually never got around to asking me."

She watches the understanding dawn across his face, the way he reaches out to take the ring from her hand with a look of utter shock in his features. "Emma…" he breathes, not sure how to proceed.

She can barely hear him when he mouths her name, but it warms her heart and she nods in encouragement.

He frowns and, for a moment, Emma is scared of what he's going to do. But then he looks at her and she sees mischief in his eyes, the same mischief she fell in love with all those years ago. "I had a speech planned out that night, you know? But now, looking at you here, you've caught me off guard and I don't know what to say other than I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

A grin breaks across her face as she bites her lip and nods, pressing her hand into his and watching as he slides the ring into place, "I think you did just fine, Captain."

He examines the ring in its place before looking up and meeting her steady gaze. It's been years too long since he's been allowed to kiss her, but it all comes back to them in an instant as he ducks his head slightly and meets her eager lips. "Gods," he breathes, tilting his head and drawing her closer. He moans as his hands slide lower on her hips, lifting her against him as he tastes her lips. She smiles into the kiss causing him to smile back and he lowers her to the ground, resting his forehead against hers as thunder rumbles overhead. "We should go," he says, leaning in to press another kiss against the tip of her nose.

The rain is pelting against her skin, she is freezing and she knows they're not in the safest place when it comes to the lightning Killian is trying to capture. But, as she looks up at the blue eyes of the man she has perhaps always loved, she finally gets it. And so she shakes her head, pulling herself back up to his waiting lips, "But there is no place I would rather be."

…

 _ **Thoughts?**_


End file.
